


The Sound of Silence

by helenblackthorn



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/F, some mentions of death & gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenblackthorn/pseuds/helenblackthorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen searches for her siblings when the war ends and finds that the Gard has been invaded by Sebastian's army and they were not as safe as she believed them to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> written as a request @ helen-blackthorn.tumblr.com

The only thing to negate the adrenaline of battle was the iron sickness that had settled in her bones.

Faerie wards had weighed her down with a nausea churning in the pit of her stomach, her mind not as sharp as it should be and instead foggy with illness. But Helen had grit her teeth anyway and fought through the rage of war, and her trembling hands were slick with blood and ichor stained into her skin. It soaked into the fabric of her gear, splattered across her face and chest and oozed from scrapes and cuts on her arms. If she looked a fraction as bad as she felt, Helen would rather not see herself. 

Aline was trailing close behind her, her fingers tight around Helen’s hand. When the Endarkened Shadowhunter’s fell and the Faeries fled, Helen’s first priority was getting to her. Helen had fought hard to get to her but the clutter of the war was too great; she had been pushed in too many directions and pulled into too many battles. And when it was over Helen ran to her without a thought: Aline had managed to stay with her parents, bruised and nursing a bleeding gash on her thigh.

But she was breathing. Despite the bruises and the wound on her leg, Aline had made it through alive and there was nothing in the world that could match the relief that she had felt. Now Helen’s only concern was finding her siblings and making sure that they were still alright after she and Zachariah left them at the Gard.

“You need to slow down, sweetie,” Aline observed as they pushed through the crowd of Shadowhunters. There was so much going on around them and in Helen’s head that her words were almost lost on her completely. “You look like you're going to be sick.”

“I’m fine,” Helen insisted, sparing her girlfriend a glance. The blue glow of the demon towers, celebrating the victory of war, reflected off of Aline’s dark, tousled hair. The lie had come so easily to her; Helen knew she wasn't fine. Her head was pounding and there was a persistent ringing in her ears and she was sure if she lifted her shirt she’d see purple bruises spread over her ribs. But she could rest later. Her siblings needed her. “We’re nearly there.”

“We deserve a long vacation after all of this is over,” Aline sighed, fingers squeezing over Helen’s. She could feel the blood on both of them caked against their skin.

Helen worried her bottom lip between her teeth and didn't respond. She only gripped her girlfriend’s hand tighter and squeezed through the crowd, carefully maneuvering around the bodies piled around the streets. Nephilim everywhere were celebrating the victory, but many others were mourning their losses - someone far off was wailing with grief, a sound so raw with pain it sounded like it’d been ripped from his throat.

She didn't dare look at the bodies. Helen had killed many in battle, both at the Burren, Citadel, and here. She couldn't allow herself to think about the blood on her hands, how many Shadowhunters and faeries lives that rested on her conscious - or how she had taken them down without batting an eyelash.

Mostly, though, Helen feared she would see her father lying on the streets. No, she thought, that man in the red gear was not her father. The man she had seen at the Citadel was not her father. Her dad would never have forced Mark to his knees and laugh while he did it. Instead it was a monster wearing his face. Helen knew the  _ real  _ Andrew Blackthorn, with his indulgent smile and terrible jokes, had died in the foyer of the Los Angeles Institute days ago.

The Gard was just up ahead, surrounded by a large crowd of Nephilim looking for their children or younger family members that they’d had to leave behind. Helen gripped Aline’s hand tighter as she squeezed through them, trying to peer around the commotion; the faerie wards were stronger here, grave dirt spread along the roads with iron and salt. Walking further was almost like walking to a brick wall, the air feeling much hotter and thick, so much so Helen’s vision wavered.

Helen finally pushed through the throng of Shadowhunters and stopped dead in her tracks, her stomach dropping. Aline, who limped shortly behind her, nearly ran into her back. The Gard’s doors had been completely obliterated, the entrance piled with rubble and bodies, blood splattered like paint.

“Oh, by the Angel,” Aline murmured, sucking in a sharp breath.

A woman in the hall - Helen recognized her as Yael Cartwright - was holding a small body to her chest, rocking him back and forth with a hand at the back of his head. One of his hands was dragging against the rubble on the floor, limp and bloodied, and his mother's cries sent shivers up Helen’s spine.

“The kids,” Helen whispered suddenly, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she felt like she was suffocating. She needed to get to her kids. If the Endarkened had gotten into the Gard -

_ No _ .

She dropped Aline’s hand, pushing further into the hall and through the rush of Shadowhunter’s; passed Mrs. Cartwright, passed young teenagers and even younger children, scanning every face for someone familiar. Helen's stomach churned unpleasantly, her veins like ice.

_ Breathe princess _ , she remembered her father saying as he guided her through a panic attack years ago,  _ you can't let your fear control you. _

“Helen!”

She turned at the call of her name. Emma stood by a pillar surrounded by her younger siblings, cortana drawn from its sheath at her side. Drusilla was sitting on the floor, her cheeks stained with sticky tears; Tavvy was sat in her lap, wailing loudly, his face beat red. The twins were standing not far off, their arms around each other, and Julian - he was on his knees, his back facing her, head bowed to his hands.

The wash of relief was so overwhelming that it had nearly brought Helen to her knees. She called out to them and hurried over, around the bodies of Endarkened soldiers and smaller children; her younger siblings met her halfway, throwing themselves into her arms with sobs and cries of both terror and relief.

Helen knelt down to their level, kissing their cheeks and holding them close, tears stinging her eyes. “Oh thank Angel you’re all alright,” she exclaimed, cupping Drusilla’s cheeks and examining her for any cuts and bruises. Tiberius was red-faced, his face scrunched up with anger and his grey eyes shining. But, otherwise, they all looked physically alright.

Aline, caught up with her, limped over to tend to Tavvy, picking him up and carefully holding him at her hip, trying to get him to stop crying. Helen felt a rush of affection at the sight.

Emma stayed behind, standing a little bit away from Julian and looking troubled. Lying a few feet away was a man in red armour, his face obscured by a mop of unruly brown hair, a knife stuck in his chest. Helen stood slowly, a dawning realization weighing heavy on her shoulders. “Go stand by Aline,” she directed her younger siblings, smoothing back Livia’s hair. 

“But Helen -” she started, chewing on her bottom lip with worry.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” Helen reassured. “I just need to go see Julian.”

“Let him go,” said Ty bitterly, small fists clenched. 

“Ty, stop,” Livia whispered, tugging on the sleeve of his sweater. He let her guide him toward Aline, and Helen stared after them for a moment with a frown of concern before carefully maneuvering toward her little brother, trying to ignore the way her stomach turned itself inside out, how the wards made her bloodied hands tremble at her sides.

She didn't dare look at the body as she approached her baby brother, purposely keeping her eyes away from it. She couldn't look at it, not yet. Helen feared the moment she saw it she would break, that wall she had built around herself would come crumbling down in seconds.Helen nodded minutely to Emma, who hesitated for a moment at her best friend’s side before slowly making her way to her siblings crowding around Aline’s legs.

Helen reached out and gently put a hand on her brother's shoulder; he’d gotten skinnier since coming to Idris, all scrawny arms and sharp bones. “Jules,” she said, and he flinched.

“I killed him,” Julian whispered as Helen knelt down in front of him. He wasn't looking at her; instead he pressed his lips in a thin line and stared blankly over her shoulder. “I killed dad.”

“Jules, baby, look at me,” Helen murmured, hooking a finger under his chin and forcing his gaze away from their father's body.  Her voice shook and she hated herself for it. Their eyes met; his were rimmed red and dull, but if Helen looked hard enough she could see the undertone of horror in them. “That wasn't dad, you know that.”

“It wasn't him but it was  _ him _ ,” Julian argued, his thin shoulders deflating. “He was going to hurt Ty. I had to do something.”

“I know -”

“Ty hates me now,” Julian said. “He hates me because I killed our dad. I should have waited. You don't hate me too right? Please don't hate me. I had to protect him.”

Helen’s brow furrowed, and she cupped her brother’s cheek and shook her head. “Of course I don't hate you, Jules.” She assured him, wiping a stray tear from beneath his eye. “I could never. You did the right thing, baby. That man, he wasn't our father. Dad would never want to hurt any of you, never. Sebastian - it was him, not you, alright?  _ Not you. _ ”

Julian looked severely unconvinced and Helen’s heart broke for him, but he nodded solemnly anyway. “Okay,” said Helen, voice a breathe.

“I’m glad you're alright,” Julian said quietly. 

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, Helen pulled him into her arms and held onto him tightly, running her fingers through his hair. Julian hesitated, but reciprocated a moment later, curling the fabric of her gear in his fists. “Everything is going to be fine, Jules,” Helen reassured him, though she wasn't entirely sure if she even believed it herself. “I promise, everything is going to be fine.”


End file.
